


Why Not?

by concupiscence66



Category: Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concupiscence66/pseuds/concupiscence66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard is a successful but miserable author.  Vince is a transient socialite.  It's a bit Breakfast at Top Shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Not?

Title: Why Not?  
Author: Concupid  
Pairing: Howard/Vince (A/U)  
Rating: R  
Warnings: semi-explicit man love, a little angst, drug references  
Summary: Howard is a successful but miserable author. Vince is a transient socialite. It's a bit Breakfast at Top Shop.  
Author's Note: So, almost a year ago we had that awesome prompt post. I could never get this prompt from the_reverand out of my head.

AU in which Vince is essentially homeless, though living mostly with friends. He's a very Holly Golightly sort. He can't hold down a job and he's more interested in parties and appearances, all the while he's lonely and lost, but smiling.

Meanwhile, Howard, having lived on his own most of his life, is achingly awkward and painfully introverted. His life is mundane and structured and very, very lonely.

Somehow, they find each other.

Better late than never?

 

Howard had published fourteen books, but he'd only ever written one story. A young man gets a chance to work with his idol, he falls in love with his idol's wife, and he loses them both. Sometimes there's an affair, even a sex scene or two, but it's usually just a kiss. One moment of weakness that ruins three lives. He's set it in the distant past (his version of Arthurian Legend), and in the distant future (in which the lady love was an android) and everywhere in between. The critics shred him for telling the same story over and over, but the books are best sellers. 

Howard Moon only had one story to tell. His life began and ended when he was twenty-three. Now he was thirty-two and he owned a curio shop with no customers. Technically, Howard owned a building that contained a curio shop, but he spent more time at the "Nabootique", than Naboo. Howard assumed it was just a front for selling drugs, but the shop was full of strange and fascinating objet d'art. It was endlessly inspiring. Strange and terrible people came through, and lacking real life experience, Howard tried to absorb theirs. It was 10pm on Christmas eve, and Howard was sitting at an antique type-writer, willing a story to begin.

Ting-a-ling.

Too bad he'd forgotten the lock the front door. 

"I'm sorry, m'am, we're not actually..."

Although the customer looked a bit like Audrey Hepburn in an oversized hat and fitted jacket, his stubble and adam's apple were a dead giveaway.

"I'm sorry, sir..."

The man threw his head back and laughed with his whole body. 

"You are not the first person to make that mistake! I'm the confuser," the man explained is a thick, South London accent, "Is it a man? Is it a woman? Oooh, I'm not sure if I mind!" 

Everything about the way the man was standing told Howard he was meant to applaud, but he wasn't sure why.

"I'm sorry, can I help you with something?" Howard spoke in a gentle tone, and with his nicest smile, "Maybe I can call your minder?"

He was rewarded with another full body laugh, "I ain't crazy, just a bit cold. This frock coat looks amazing, but I was freezing my tits off out there."

"Don't you have somewhere you can go?" Howard hinted.

The man removed his black hat and fussed with his black hair, "'Course I got somewhere to go, but the good parties don't start 'til midnight. I'm on me own until then, less I want to be the berk who shows up early."

He made the word 'early' sound like a disease.

"I mean, haven't you get a home, or a place to stay?" that isn't here?

The man shifted awkwardly for a moment before his face lit up with a dazzling smile, "I got places, but you gotta be in the right place. It's all about the right place, innit?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't actually run this shop, I was just trying to get some writing done..."

The man's eyes lit up, "You write? You should write about me. I bin needin' a biographer. I tried writing about myself, but I can't actually spell."

Howard smiled in spite of his better instincts. The man was oddly attractive. His face was all odd angles, the skin stretched tight in fashionable near-starvation, but his eyes were large and piercing. He was in constant motion, as though he were a model posing for a photographer, trying to find the light and his best side.

"Name's Vince. Vince Noir, rock'n'roll star," the man offered, along with his hand. 

Howard gave the hand a hesitant shake, it was ice cold, "Do you want a cup of tea? You're freezing."

Vince suddenly looked bashful, ducking behind his thick fringe, as he muttered, "I could do with a cuppa, but I don't want to put you out..."

And just like that, Howard invited a stranger into his flat.

xxx

Vince chattered on about genius people and genius parties as Howard put the kettle on. Vince had yet to ask Howard's name. He seemed too wrapped up in his personal narrative of being a terribly exciting person to wonder whose home he was in.

"Sugar? Milk?" Howard offered. He normally used neither, but he occasionally went a bit crazy with his Weetabix. 

"Both," Vince said, a bit too eagerly. Howard casually put out some biscuits and carefully kept his back turned to allow Vince a chance to eat if he was hungry. When he brought the tea to the table, he could see six biscuits had been devoured. Vince was looking at the wall and going on about someone named Jacques Le Cube.

"What kind of name is that?" Howard couldn't help but sneer.

"Well, he's French," Vince explained, "and he's a cube."

"I'm a bit peckish," Howard lied, "Would you like a sandwich? I have some turkey and roast beef..."

Vince's eyes widened in a way that hurt Howard's heart. Apparently, Vince's painfully thin body wasn't just a fashion statement. 

"I'm on the GI diet," Vince explained, "So I probably shouldn't..."

"I insist."

"All right then. Do you have mustard? And pickles? And crisps?"

xxx

"So, Howard..."

Howard jumped, "How do you know my name?"

"I ain't illiterate! I read some of your books... Well, I read the dirty bits, anyway."

Howard felt his face turn red, the sex scenes were the true fiction of his stories.

"I didn't place you right away," Vince continued, "but I recognize you from the dust jackets. My mate, Leroy, has all your books. When I stay with him..."

"Is he your lover?" Howard asked, trying to sound indifferent and urbane.

Vince turned pink and squawked, "Leroy! No way! He is well straight. I'm on the streets now 'cause he's got some bird over."

"Are you flat mates?" Howard asked, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Not technically," Vince said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I don't live there. I mean, I don't pay rent or nuthin'. I just stay there, sometimes."

"Are you homeless?" Howard finally asked.

"Wot?" Vince was beginning to sound like a chicken, "Do I look homeless? This whole outfit is from Top Shop! It's worth more than..."

Vince looked around the room, clearly trying to find something that looked even remotely expensive, and had to give up.

"I'm not judging you, Vince. I just wanted to say," Howard took a deep breath and ignored everything his parents had ever taught him, "If you need someone to stay, you're welcomed to spend the night here."

Vince turned red, and flapped his arms around as he talked about the genius party he was meant to attend.

"I'm not..." Howard hated himself for opening this can of worms in the first place, "I don't mean that. I just mean, there's an extra bed. It's in my room, but we can put it somewhere else... You just look like you could use a night in."

Vince fiddled with the sleeve of his coat. It was comfortably warm in Howard's flat above the Nabootique, but Vince was still bundled up.

"You need to eat a few real meals, and maybe get some sleep. You seem like a nice kid."

Vince nodded, but avoided Howard's eyes, "The party scene can get a bit rough. I haven't eaten anything but cruet de tes in weeks."

"Man can not live by stuffed vine leaves alone," Howard mused, "That's one of mine."

Vince laughed, and chewed on his thumb nail. From some angles he was a strikingly beautiful man/woman, from others, he looked like human gargoyle. Chewing on his thumb... Howard didn't care to think about it.

"I'll get you some linens."

xxx

Howard had meant to stay in the flat above the shop for a few weeks, until he found a place he liked. He soon realized, he didn't like anywhere. He'd been happy for a few weeks in his twenties, and that time was well and truly over.

"Why are there two beds in here?" Vince asked, "D'you have many sleepovers?"

Howard had asked Naboo about the second bed. Naboo said it was meant for the "familiar" he'd never found. Naboo had looked terribly sad at the time, but Howard chalked it all up to the reefer he smoked day and night.

"Long story," Howard lied, "We can pull it into the living room."

"This is fine," Vince said, with a shrug, "I'm used to sleeping wherever and whenever and with whoever..."

The joke fell flat and both men turned red. Howard had long since accepted he'd been just as drawn to Mr. Gideon as to his beautiful wife, but it seemed an academic issue at best.

Vince was taking off his coat. Howard turned his head.

"I'm not getting naked!" Vince cried, "I'll just sleep in me clothes."

Vince was wearing a sequined body suit.

"I have some pyjamas you can borrow," Howard sighed.

xxx

Vince was clearly not pleased with the plain, beige bed clothes, but he looked rather charming when he came out of the bathroom. The pyjamas hung off of him, and it made Howard feel rather manly. It was a nice feeling.

"There's no need to rush in the morning," Howard said, after clearing his throat three times, "I've no where to go. You can have breakfast before you head to your friends and family."

Vince stood, pigeon toed and fussing with his hair, "Thanks, Howard. I mean it. You're really nice. Thanks."

Vince suddenly dove into the extra bed.

"Good night, you strange little man."

xxx

Howard was certain he wouldn't get a wink of sleep, but he was in the middle of being smothered by a wet duvet when he realized there was someone on top of him. Howard woke up just in time to spare Vince from the deadly weapons that were his hands. He'd only had one jiu jitsu class, but he'd read several pamphlets. Howard had always been more of a visual learner, anyway.

"What are you doing?" Howard whispered, although there was no one to overhear. 

"What does it look like?" Vince whispered before pressing his lips to Howard's. It had been almost ten years since his last kiss. He had hopelessly idealized Mrs. Gideon, and yet the memory of her lips paled in comparison to a kiss from man who put the 'strange' in 'stranger'.

It was only when Vince's hands strayed below his belt, or where his belt would be if he weren't in his pyjamas, that Howard came to his senses.

"Vince, I told you... I wasn't trying to ask for this. No strings, yeah?"

He could only see Vince's striking outline in the dark. The light of the creepy moon threw every angle into sharp relief. He looked like a beautiful monster from a children's story. Vince Noir had surely climbed from Howard's own subconscious, specifically to throw his life into chaos. This was how it felt to go mad.

"I was just in bed thinking..." Vince ducked his head and ruffled his black hair, "If you had... if there were strings, I wouldn't have really minded 'cause you're well handsome and a famous writer, n'all. I ain't so hard up I'll sleep with anyone, but..."

"You've done worse?"

Vince gave a dry laugh, "Yeah, I done worse. I mean, if we met at a party and you invited me back... Or if you'd pushed the issue... It don't make sense that the only reason I'm not going to sleep with you is because you're a nice person."

Howard was disturbed that he could actually follow Vince's twisted logic.

"But you can't go to bed with every guy who doesn't ask you to," Howard offered, not feeling quite strong enough to actually put an end to things.

Vince threw his head back and laughed, "I like you, Howard."

"I like you, too, Vince."

Howard closed his eyes as Vince stroked his cheek. He wished he'd shaved. Vince took his time, his touch gentle and slow. Howard couldn't bear the idea of telling a near stranger he was still a virgin, but he was certain Vince could tell. Howard screwed his eyes shut as Vince brought him to orgasm with only a few flicks of his wrist. When Howard fumbled for the waistband of Vince's pyjama bottoms, Vince simply said, "Not yet." Howard did as he was told, touching Vince everywhere else, savoring his lean body and warm mouth. When Vince laughed, Howard laughed as well. He'd never felt so at ease with anyone. Strange as he was, Vince felt familiar. He felt a sudden flutter (more than a flutter) of panic when Vince pulled lubricant and a johnny from his bag. Purse? 

Vince did all the hard work, as it were. Howard simply laid back and tried not to make a fool of himself. When Vince smiled down at him, Howard felt a ridiculous urge to declare his love, or write a free form poem. When Vince dug his fingers into Howard's shoulders and began rocking his hips hard and fast, Howard could only hold onto the man's shapely (surely footballing) thighs and watch in stunned amazement as Vince grimaced. He looked to be in pain as he came on Howard's stomach, but a carefree smile soon lit up his face. Howard's own orgasm snuck up on him. He'd been thoroughly distracted by Vince's performance. 

Vince's smile was strangely sweet, almost loving. 

"Well, that was..." Howard searched for a phrase that would capture the complicated beauty of what they had just shared, "nice."

Vince hid his face and laughed, "See? Now you can put me in a story! The hero doesn't get the guy or the girl. He gets a bony transsexual tramp."

"That might give my next novel a bit of edge," Howard mused, "I do like a bit of edge..."

"I've read enough of your books to know you're about as edgy as a Satsuma," Vince teased, "I bet the hero proposes to the bony transexual by the end of the story."

Howard tried to look serious, "Maybe my hero won't fall in love this time. Maybe he'll keep his heart to himself, focus on his art..."

"But the transsexual is a brilliant muse and could change the hero's life forever."

Howard's chest tightened, he felt like he was standing on a precipice. Maybe he was ready to write another story.

"Do you think that's true?" Howard asked, looking around his drab room. All his money and success brought him no joy. His money sat in a bank and he sat in an undecorated flat in a run down building in Dalston.

Vince gave a solemn nod, "And, he's a mermaid. Merman. Whatever."

Howard threw Vince off of his waist and onto the bed. Vince put up an obscene but flimsy fight when Howard pinned his arms over his head.

"Why is he a mermaid? That has nothing to do with anything," Howard asked, sincerely curious.

Vince did his best to shrug, "Because he's from another world, and he don't belong in the hero's world."

Howard wanted to make a joke, or better yet, leave the room. Instead, he kissed Vince's swollen lips. He was gentle, trying not to rub his whiskers into the man's delicate skin. He could see patches of irritation on Vince's pale form, a map of where his mouth had traveled.

"Maybe he's what the hero needs. Someone to add a little color and a little magic to his world," Howard suggested.

"Magic ain't real," Vince sighed, "It's just in stories. And sometimes in a really good outfit."

Howard considered describing some of the things he'd seen in the Nabootique, but some things needed to be seen to be believed.

"Stay here a few weeks, and I think you'll change your mind."

Howard had been referring to the Nabootique, but he replayed the words in his head when Vince turned bright red. Howard decided to stand by them. 

"Stay," he whispered, "Stay for a while. No expectations. I just want to make you believe in magic."

Vince laughed, "Now you're just getting cocky!"

"I'm surrounded by magic," Howard admitted, "It's all through this house, but I can't be bothered to be moved. I'm just lost here."

Vince freed one of his hands and tucked a stray curl behind Howard's ear, "Do you really not have anywhere to go today? It's Christmas. Don't you have any friends or family?"

"I do," Howard acknowledged, "But... I guess I can't be bothered. What about you?"

"Yeah," Vince said with a sad smile, "but I'm tired of being a bother."

Howard had once stood frozen as Mrs. Gideon gave him a chaste kiss. It was the craziest thing he'd ever done, and it had left him crushed and alone. Now, he was essentially asking the stranger he'd just lost his virginity to, to live with him. He felt surprisingly at ease with the turn of events.

"Stay as long as you like," Howard reiterated, "We'll have a nice Christmas. There must be somewhere that's open and we can buy presents..."

"The zoo is open today!" Vince squealed, "It's open and you can go for free every Christmas. I go there every year..."

"The zoo in Shoreditch? That zoo is horrible..."

"That zoo is genius!" Vince protested, "They got a genius gorilla named Mr. Bollo. You should meet him."

xxx

Howard and Vince bundled up for a chilly day at the Zooniverse, 'meeting' a gorilla that Vince called one of his best mates. Howard was feeling generous when he heard Naboo walking into the shop, and took Vince down to meet him. Naboo always seemed quite lonely. As Vince and Naboo exchanged, "All right?"s, Howard noticed a slight resemblance between the two. He never gave much thought to Naboo as a person, always rather chalking him up to being just a crazy stoner, but his tenant suddenly looked nearly beautiful with his strangely ageless face, and colorful robes.

"You should come with us!" Vince cried, "You should meet Mr. Bollo. Everyone should meet Mr. Bollo..."

Naboo took a hit from his pocket hookah, "All right. I haven't got anything else on."

"Bring the hookah," Vince suggested, "Mr. Bollo loves the green stuff. It's bad for him, 'cause he's got asthma..."

Howard followed Naboo and Vince out of the shop, heading the saddest zoo in the British Empire, but feeling a bit like Ebenezer Scrooge after the whole ghost business. He felt like he had the Christmas spirit for the first time since learning Father Christmas wasn't real. When a few flakes of snow started to fall, just as they exited the building, Howard felt totally at ease with the idea it was a Christmas miracle.

Why not?


End file.
